A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

The documents we recovered at the Baxter Estate turn out to be rather useful. It appears that we found the main base of operation of the Brotherhood in Georgia. This makes our failure to recover its leader intact that much more regrettable but also allows us to learn quite a bit.

Unfortunately, it soon becomes clear that those Brotherhood members are but low-level agents. They know barely enough to accomplish their objectives, a cautious policy that proves the experience of our foes in the business of secrecy. We still have no idea about who their leadership is and what they aim to achieve, or indeed what the relic really is. Some of their notable members may know more, though going after such public figures will require some preparation. I do not want to leave a slew of murdered high-profile targets. There is no surer way to attract the attention of powerful forces I would be unable to face.

September 9th, Higginsville, Georgia.

I am in the planning room reviewing notes when I feel panic coming from Dalton. I surge to the door and come across him in the entrance.

“What is it?”

“Mistress… There is a vampire outside!”

Ah.

“Only one?”

“That I can tell. They are wearing a mask, and they are dressed in grey.”

My mind, which was on the verge of panic, immediately calms down and I smile happily.

“Grey, you say?”

“Mistress?”

I open the door outside and take in the newcomer. Masked, she is dressed in a form-fitting lamellar armor of exquisite make. The whispers of powerful enchantments come from her armguards and the sword at her waist, a blade I recognize easily.

“Jimena!’

Her voice comes clearly and carries a hint of a smile, yet it also sounds tired.

I lead her up the stairs, Dalton has gone to warn Loth.

I do not reply, and we soon find ourselves in the smoking room. Jimena takes a seat with a sigh that betrays a wariness that is not physical in nature.

Jimena lets out a short laugh, bitter, yet relieved.

Ah, so we were going to kill the commanding officer of a local force. This is troublesome. Murdered public figures attract a great deal of attention, something I could use a lot less of. Without a word, I leave to prepare, meeting Loth and Dalton on the way. I confirm that it is safe.

In anticipation of a possible evacuation, I have an ‘emergency bag’ ready for a quick departure. I grab it and add a few personal effects, travelling clothes, and my rifle. I also take a silver bullet with a piercing glyph, courtesy of the master of the house. When it comes to assassinations, long-range weapons are always a safe bet.

When I return to the entrance, I find all three people talking in quiet voices. Dalton is telling them of his latest arrest involving a duo of conmen pretending to be Castilian nobility. They did not speak three words of Spanish between themselves.

“Ah, you are here. Loth, Dalton, I am sorry but I cannot involve you in this.”

“Don’t worry, I understand. Just make sure ya bring her back to me in one piece aye?”

“Yes, I promise, though I would not worry too much. I am sure she can defend herself.”

Her tone is dismissive, her demeanour, distracted. I am deeply concerned. All the vampires I have met learn very soon how to school their expressions and keep their emotions under control. Beyond politeness, it is a question of survival. That Jimena would give it up fills me with worry.

She politely bows to Loth and Dalton both and turns without a look. With a last goodbye, I hurry to follow.

She stops in her tracks and turns to me. For the first time this evening, I detect a hint of hesitation.

Understatement of the year. She seems so lost, almost like a human. This bothers me more than I would like to admit. I still trail her without pause.

We exit Loth’s grounds and find a black carriage at a crossroad. I am surprised to see horses again and I remember that Lambert used to ride one.

And that is it. Proper conversation is a lost art, it seems. It would be easier to pull rotten teeth from a grizzly than to draw words from my companion tonight. I give up, and we depart in silence after she covers her conspicuous armour with a cloak.

I expect us to make good time and I am soon proven wrong. After less than an hour of travel Jimena leaves the Eastern road for a side path, and we soon arrive in front of a concealed lake lined with wildflowers.

The landscape is so enchanting that I have little doubt that she selected it on purpose. The view of the stars and moon in the cloudless night sky is breathtaking. Tendrils of baleful purple reflect on the surface of the placid water, turning it into an exotic composition enshrined in a green background. The sounds of life and the movements around us only understate our immobility, a proof that we have more in common with what is above than what is around. Vampires in general are mostly static, until we are not.

Jimena removes a ceremonial knife from a recess in her grey armour and turns it in her hands thoughtfully. The blade is not metal, but a crystalline and irregular form. I give her the time she needs to gather her courage. Eventually, she does and makes a conscious effort to meet my eyes.

Jimena takes a deep breath before continuing.

I pause, surprised. And where does this come from? I cross my arm in front of me in what I know to be a defensive gesture. I care not about showing signs of weakness in front of her. Apparently, we are past that.

I ponder this for a moment. I like and respect her as a friend, I do. I owe her my life and freedom and quite a bit besides, and none of it matters. This oath, it is not one that stems from obligation. It requires free will in its purest form.

A sister. I never had a sister, yet if I did, I wish she could have been like Jimena: unconditionally supportive, fearless, and caring.

Jimena blinks in a show of powerful emotion. She swallows with difficulty and slices her palm with the glassy blade, then shoves it in my face like a bashful teenager at her first outing.

My, so brusque. She really isn’t one for long ceremonies…

Ah? Why you tomboyish lout! Can I not enjoy the moment?!

She rushes away, towards the carriage. The fugacious satisfaction I had fades like dew under the sun, and my mouth curves into a pout. It really isn’t fair. This is the sort of memory that lasts a lifetime, or several in our case, and she went and ruined it. Seriously…

When we depart once more, she will not meet my eyes. I settle into a sulky silence and wonder what it will take for her to share what is troubling her so. Only then would I be able to “untwist her panties” as Loth would say it.

We ride past sleepy hamlets and harvested fields in silence. I consider taking out my notebook and reviewing either runes or our latest progress and eventually decide against it. I have not been out here for a while, just enjoying the landscape as we pass it. This activity lacks the frantic pleasure of running outside that I do enjoy so much, and yet I find it relaxing in its own right. Perhaps I needed this. We have been focused so much on tracking the Brotherhood, that not an instant has passed that I did not think about it. This distraction is a boon in disguise.

It is long past midnight when we come across a small patrol carrying torches. Two men on horses with muskets at their back ride to us. We are hailed by the lead.

“Hold! State your name and business.”

“We are travellers and our business is our own,” replies Jimena testily before I even manage to consider a diplomatic response.

Hem, that is not the proper way to handle this situation.

“It is my business if two women are out there at this hour around those parts. Where are your fathers and husbands, I ask? Proper, God-fearing ladies have no cause to wander around after the light is out.”

“And proper gentlemen have no cause to accost women, after dark and otherwise. Now step aside and I will remind you to mind your manners.”

“I will not allow a woman to teach a man, she must remain silent!” replies the man with a triumphant sneer. At this stage, both the second patrolman, who is a young man with a frizzy moustache, and myself share a moment of horrified fascination.

“But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart,” retorts Jimena with deadpan delivery, “See? Two can play that game.”

Now that both parties have shown their ability to quote the Bible when it suits their purposes, we enter the next phase of any doctrinal dispute: violence.

The man sputters in fury and pushes his horse to my sister who looks at him with the immobility of the gargoyle. I can feel the turmoil in her aura. Oh, oh no. I really hope she brought a shovel.

“I’m going to teach you some respect, wench!”

He grabs for her shoulder and pulls the other hand to throw a punch. Faster than even I can see, both his arms are imprisoned in a steel grip.

“By what right? By what right will you teach me a lesson? Because you are stronger? Because society allows it? Well, go ahead. Punish, oh mighty one.”

What is wrong with her? Jimena releases one hand, and her assailant throws a hook in her cheek.

“Let me go, you crazy hag!”

Jimena’s dismissive slap cracks against his head, Blood gushes from his mouth and falls on the dirt below. His horse starts to panic.

In front of me, the second militiaman looks on stupefied before grabbing his musket.

At least my need for blood is momentarily solved.

Before leaving to a more secluded place, I turn back to a somewhat bashful Jimena. She holds her own prey in a choke and has the decency to look embarrassed. I make myself frown to clearly mark my displeasure.

If she lets his horse go, I swear I am not running after it. What was this all about anyway? Ah, never mind that. Let me enjoy myself first.

Jimena sighs deeply and leans on the shovel.

She lowers her head in shame.

Jimena laughs at what she believes to be an idle threat. A short rendition of Auld Lang Syne for the departed patrol later, she quickly reassesses the danger her ears and sanity find themselves in.

I close my mouth like one sheathes a blade. For the umpteenth time tonight, Jimena sighs loudly and painfully. She resumes digging and starts her story. At first, her tone is hesitant, almost shy, and she often lifts her head to look for a reaction. Then, she forgets about everything to let her story flow.

She snickers but the sound comes off wrong. It is cold and empty, just a human gesture produced out of habit and politeness with no real substance. There is not a trace of mirth in it, and I soon learn why.

Jimena’s shovel arcs in the air, sending a plume of rocks and mud that falls like hail on the branches of a nearby tree.

I know how this feels. The powerlessness, the unfairness, the pain, the guilt.

Jimena’s mood turns contemplative after that. I know that upon reaching masterhood, vampires are freed from the need to obey the one who turned them. It does not cut all ties, however, and it appears that her relationship with this Urraca lady is more harmonious than what I have with… MastEr.

Jimena looks older than eighteen. The life of a highwaywoman must have been harrowing, or perhaps it made her mature faster. For all her apparent candour, I did not miss the moment she said they left no witnesses.

Jimena’s question is a valid one. I think for a moment. Do I believe myself a blight on this world? Not really. I have killed, yes, many times, and yet I have also protected my territory from worse threats. We are the lesser evil, I believe. Were we to rule the world, there would be less freedom, and also less senseless slaughter. Something to keep in mind.

My sister nods as if there ever were any doubt. As someone who has seen the worst humanity has to offer, we must seem mild to her in comparison.

Jimena stops digging for a second and leans on the shovel, as if under a great weight.

Jimena stares in the distance for a while then resumes her digging.

She freezes completely.

She puts the shovel down.

I am not convinced that I should take any credit in this whole affair. I still nod in recognition.

As fate would have it our target is near Fort Barrington, location of my last meeting with the honourable sir Bingle. I am tempted to check on Cecily and see if she found a good party, unfortunately we are “here for business” as Loth would put it, and so I stick to Jimena and the plan.

When she told me our target was in a military camp, I was imagining rows of tents and men at parade surrounded by earthworks and wooden towers, like I saw in those patriotic recollections distributed around town. I was mistaken. This is no temporary bivouac of an army on the march, it is for all intents and purposes a town.

Fort Barrington proper lies on a fortified hill surrounded on two sides by rivers and on the last one by a complex of fortifications and redoubts. We have no issue passing those in our carriage, and I soon understand why. Beyond the first ring lies a mess of wooden huts of simple, but solid make. Between them and even at night, a crowd has gathered around an improvised marketplace. Sutlers operating from wagons provide men on leave with tobacco and alcohol. Women collect used uniforms and return them sewn and laundered. The smell of food is everywhere and the sounds of sex coming from a two-story building shows beyond a doubt that the world’s oldest profession is practised here. There are at least five hundred people around us as we make our way to what seems to be the designated parking space. Some soldiers even walk around with their wives and children.

We park between two empty wagons and I get down quickly.

True to my word, I run my errand, making sure to Charm my memory away from the cloth merchant and return promptly to my accomplice. When Jimena sees me, her brows creep up ever so slightly.

Jimena blinks several times as she takes in my uniform.

I grumble and comply. Those trousers are entirely too tight where it counts and I am afraid that the seams will just pop open should I attempt to crouch too fast. When I am facing my sister again, she is biting her lower lip.

“Aaaw.”

I was really looking forward to being disguised too…

Curious. Oh well, it matters not.

In the next few minutes, we compare our murder apparels in an impromptu fashion meet.

We promptly get prepared. I keep my Talleyrand in a black shoulder holster to prevent light from shining on it while we move, and though my sister frowns with disapproval, she does not object me bringing it. I would sure hope so! Next to poison, ranged weaponry is a great way to get rid of targets safely and we are hunting a human. Truly, my rifle is the optimal solution.

Jimena has me memorize a basic map of the military camp itself and we settle to wait in companionable silence. The sounds of the night grow progressively more subdued as the crowd drifts to sleep. A little past midnight, she stands up and declares that it is time.

We run through the village in perfect silence, easily avoiding the occasional late revellers. We soon reach open ground and accelerate towards our target. When we reach the first earthworks, Jimena easily jumps over it and I follow her immediately. As she lands, she seems to remember me and looks with worry, promptly turning to relief as I stop beside her. This situation is repeated a few times until she realizes that I have no difficulty matching her speed. All those nights spent running around have finally paid off.

In the next few minutes, we weave and sneak our way through the base like ghosts. We step behind patrols, between pickets and above the walls of redoubts. Neither rocks nor spikes can stop vampires. Nor can eyes and ears catch us as we make our way through mortal defences with perfect discretion, unmatched and unbothered. The entire facility lies open and I use this opportunity to inspect it. Rows of wooden barracks housing a squad each alternate with smithies, armouries and barns. I have issues wrapping my head around the number of fighting men present here, and they only represent a fraction of the forces that would be brought to bear against an invasion! I can only imagine major battles involving tens of thousands of troops. What a spectacle it must be! How unfortunate that such actions only occur during the day.

Without incident, we approach the general’s quarter from the side. He lives in an old house that predates the camp by a few years, surrounded in turn by a square fort with guard towers on each corner. We easily jump up the wall and after making sure that the sentries are looking elsewhere, drop down. I immediately follow Jimena in the shadow of a small cabin built against the palisade.

In the middle of the open ground stands the refuge of the man we are here to slay.

It shines in my eyes like a city’s night sky, while several squads stand at attention.

I turn to her dismissively.

I examine our surroundings and locate what I expected. The fort is designed to be autonomous under siege even if artillery would make short work of the walls, therefore it contains a powder reserve.

At first Jimena is reluctant. Her old-fashioned approach to operations conflicts with my method, and yet she cannot deny the allure of such a pragmatic solution.

She is about to leave when she stops and adds in a whisper, without facing me:

I breathe in and out with absolute calm. The two men on the guard tower slumber at my feet, their willpower no match for my full-powered Charm. The night is silent but for the flames of open torches and the heartbeats of tired men.

I wait.

A hundred paces in front of me, Jimena slips behind a bored guard and slowly lifts a set of keys from his belt. She turns and opens the door to the armory. It turns on its hinges in silence. She disappears inside and emerges a few moments later with a barrel of powder.

I wait.

She skirts the outer wall in the darkness to a shed facing the general’s bedroom.

I wait.

A fire erupts from it. It quickly engulfs the small structure while Jimena slips away. Screams and sounds of alerts erupt left and right.

I wait.

The shed explodes in a rain of fire and shards. An alarm bell rings in the distance. At my feet, one of the guards stir. The air is filled with yells and screams. The camp is waking up.

I wait.

A trumpet blares in the darkness while a crowd of half-naked men rushes out of their beds, weapon in hands. They spread out. Additional torches redden the night, casting shades on the ground that shake and twist as if dancing in madness.

I wait.

The shutters open to reveal an old man with short hair wearing an open shirt. His eyes are a striking blue and a small scar on his left cheek are all that remain from a Creek arrow.

Hello, Chester, and goodbye.

I pull the trigger. With unerring accuracy, my Talleyrand rifle sends its payload into the night. Loth’s engraved silver bullet shatters the wards as if they were flimsy glass. A red flower blooms on his forehead and I know his brains now splatter the inside of his bedroom.

I take a second to holster my weapon. My task is accomplished.

“W-what?” mumbles a sleepy guard. I backhand him into unconsciousness again. I could just kill him, but I love the idea of leaving only one victim. The message is that much more potent. It shows that all those guards were so useless we did not even bother taking them out.

As Jimena reaches me, we jump out and vanish into the night.

The next evening.

I wince once more, not meeting her eyes.

“Halt!”

We turn around to a strong picket of men checking the camp’s exit.

“Am I disturbing you ladies in the middle of an argument?” asks the head guard with a smirk. He is an imposing sergeant with the countenance of a man who has seen much. Black pockets under his eyes are a sure sign that his shift should have ended long ago. With the assassination of its highest-ranking member, the camp is in disarray, and by now most soldiers only remain upright by sheer frustration.

“Of course not, sir.”

“And why are you leaving us so soon?”

I capture his attention and realize the man is frustrated, he most likely believes the killer to be either a turncoat in hiding or long gone. He is also dismissive, as in his mind two young women could not possibly be the culprits.

“Our business is done, we are heading back to our village, sir.”

“Your business huh…” he adds, and I realize I was mistaken. He thinks us courtesans heading back to wherever we came from after entertaining officers. Our fresh faces and subdued clothes, coupled with the fact we travel alone, place us firmly in this category,

I smile sheepishly. Yes, my good man, you caught us.

“Will you need to search the carriage?”

“How do you know we search carriages,” he asks with a frown. Jimena turns a worried eye to me but I reply without pause.

“You searched the one in front of us, and now you stop us. Sir.”

My voice is candid and without arrogance. I slightly push on the feeling of dismissal and the sergeant soon turns around and waves us off.

I nod and we depart.

Jimena smiles appreciatively after we are out of earshot.

Jimena ruminates on that before continuing.

So, this is how Dalton feels when he gives me lip? My situation is hopeless, for he will never give up that beautiful vindication.

We spend the trip back in stories and humorous bickering.